Weakness Leaving The Body
by seriousish
Summary: Lexa rules with her head, not her heart. Except when she does.


It happened whenever Clarke left Camp Jaha, which was often. She was no longer built for rusting, wearing interiors. The Ark had already spilled her out like a womb. She couldn't do anything inside its corpse but fester.

So she went out, every trip, every errand. Not the leader anymore, not anyone anymore, but still willing to take on any task, every guard duty, caravan, transport, clean-up. She'd _been _leader, she'd tallied up her people's trust, inventoried it in chits, gambled them all. Lost it all.

But that didn't matter now. Like her father, like Anya, like Finn, it was in the past. She was just supposed to go to the glowing dot on the map, take a reading, come back. Only Lexa was standing in her way.

It surprised her. The last few times, Lexa had clearly not felt up to facing her. She'd just followed Clarke until Clarke noticed her. Once, Clarke had ignored her, there and back, only turning back as the door shut in Lexa's face.

Now she looked at Lexa. She looked her right in the eye. She knew that would hurt the most.

"I come to ask for forgiveness and understanding," Lexa said, her voice as firm and bold as if this were the first time they'd had this conversation.

"Fuck off," Clarke said, because it wasn't.

Lexa could flinch without moving an inch. "I come to ask for forgiveness and understanding," she said, a little quieter.

Clarke pressed in. "Forgiveness for what? For saving your people?"

"No," Lexa said hesitantly.

"Because you're not sorry for that. For letting the Mountain go, then." Lexa wouldn't give as much of a reaction the second time. Clarke moved in close to catch it. "For letting the men who butchered both our people _get away with it._"

"It was the cost of getting my people back. If I can't be sorry about one, then I can't be sorry about the other."

Clarke bowed her head. She didn't need to look at Lexa to feel what was coming. "Then what are you so sorry about? It sounds like you don't regret anything."

"Clarke—"

"Why should you?" Clarke felt the tremor go through Lexa like they were connected. "You got everything you wanted."

"I _didn't." _Lexa took a deep breath. Her eyes were little slits of white in a dark frame. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"Are you sorry that we _hate _you now?" We meaning the Sky People, you meaning the Grounders. But Lexa's eyes darted away like she didn't mean that at all. "You and I, we put so much work into fixing things between us. We bled and killed for it. You went to war to kill a bunch of _children _and we let it go. We were just starting to trust each other, and now? Grounder is a _slur. _We _insult each other _by calling people Woods Clan. You lost us as an ally and you strengthened Mount Weather as an enemy.

"I have my people back."

"Not all of them."

"As I told you, the dead are gone, the living are—"

"I meant me."

Now Lexa finally gave in. Lowered her head, squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her fists for a hopeless battle. Clarke looked at her. Weak. She moved in. Cupped Lexa's chin and the Commander let her.

"You don't care about my people. You care about me."

"I can only care so much," Lexa said helplessly. "But I can't help caring about you."

"You don't want my forgiveness. You want this." She kissed Lexa.

The Commander was more surprised than she'd be if Clarke had stabbed her in the chest. A knife wound she knew how to treat.

"You want me," Clarke said, kissing Lexa again. "You want the way I make you feel." She wouldn't stop, barraging Lexa with her passion, hands slipping into Lexa's pockets, through familiar holes, against familiar skin. "You want the way I used to feel about you."

"Please." The word was unfamiliar, foreign, falling off Lexa's tongue like it'd had to be severed.

Clarke pushed her against a tree, Lexa relinquishing control, thrusting it away, anything to appease Clarke. She matched the need Clarke showed her, not afraid to show how desperate she was, ripping at her own clothes to bear herself to Clarke.

Clarke pushed Lexa harder against the tree trunk, hands on her bare breasts, squeezing them, groping them, seeing unabashed pleasure on Lexa's face—eyes closed in disbelief, not wanting to ruin the spell. She gave herself over to it, an ill-fitting look of contentment worn on her face. No stoicism. On some level, she wanted Clarke to see how much this meant to her.

And Clarke did. It let her know when to lead Lexa away from the tree with a tweaking grip on her nipples, shove her back with a hand on her throat. "Are you enjoying this?"

Lexa nodded eagerly. Her eyes wet, wide.

"Too bad. You don't get to. Only I do." Clarke forced Lexa to her knees. Lexa was still obedient, still eager to please. She undressed Clarke from the waist down.

She pleasured Clarke with no compunctions, no reservations, nothing held back. Clarke gave her nothing. No noise, no eye contact, just the firm pressure on the back of her head to tell Lexa that her efforts weren't completely wasted.

The girl _was _sound—not the silent of the Grounders, without a wasted word, but muttering, humming, music playing, idle gossip. Lexa had thought the trend would continue in passion. Clarke would moan, scream, gasp, a whole new host of treasures from that lovely voice.

Clarke took and took, eyes closed to refuse Lexa's seeking gaze. She hadn't thought of herself as an angry person, a hateful person, but Lexa's betrayal had unlocked a reservoir of spite in her that she hadn't even had for Mount Weather. _They _were just a problem to be solved. Lexa was something Clarke couldn't quantity. No plans for her, nothing to compensate for, treat, negotiate.

There'd been a warmth she'd let herself feel, growing where she was sure the earth of her had been salted, and then it'd been razed again. The smile of seeing Lexa had turned to a flash of red-hot rage, and no matter how good Lexa felt, the rage still flashed, a scream Clarke wouldn't give Lexa the satisfaction of hearing.

_You left, you left, you're like all the others only you _chose _to leave me._

She didn't say it because she imagined Lexa telling her about Costia again, telling Clarke that there was scorched earth inside her as well. That Clarke made it grow as surely as Lexa did for her.

She didn't think of wanting to snap Lexa's heart, hurt her _exactly _like Lexa hurt her.

She accepted the pain Lexa would give her. The pain Lexa asked for.

"This is weakness. This is regret. This is you without any control. You can't _stand _that you sacrificed me to get what you wanted, so this is you, wanting it all back, staring into the past like you can change it. You're so fucking weak, you can't even wish you'd done it differently. You just wish that I was a hypocrite like you, weak enough to take you back after _what you did." _Clarke shuddered in orgasm. It did nothing to stem the flow of her words, her outrage. You're weak," she hissed. "_Say it."_

"I'm weak," Lexa said against her mons, not wanting to break contact with Clarke even though she'd already made her come.

"You're a liar."

Lexa kissed desperately at Clarke's sex. "I'm a liar…"

"If you could go back, you'd do it differently. You'd choose me."

Lexa licked and sucked, kissed, tasted, like she could play Clarke as effectively as she played her body. Words had never been her strong suit. She could say what needed to be said, but far more importantly, she did what needed to be done. A part of her stubbornly believed that, just like she could beat an enemy into submission, hammer red-hot metal into a sword, ply a body into pleasure, that she could fix them. Draw the resentment out of Clarke, lance it, drain it until all that was left in her was the embers of their warmth for each other. She could fan that flame.

If Clarke just stopped hating her, Lexa could make Clarke love her.

"Say it!" Clarke demanded, her hands running desperately through Lexa's hair as the pleasure wracked her, burnt her. "Tell me!"

Lexa could love Clarke, but she couldn't lie to her. Not after the world had made a liar of her once.

She was still the woman who would make the deal. She hated that woman as much as Clarke did, but she was not anyone else. Not even the woman Clarke could be in love with.

Clarke shoved Lexa away. The kiss on her overstimulated folds had begun to hurt. "You're pathetic."

Lexa couldn't even speak now. She just nodded.

"I could forgive you. I could forgive you if you were just _sorry._"

"I am," Lexa breathed.

"No, _you're not. _If you were sorry, you would change."

"I can't."

"You _don't want to!" _Clarke's voice kept running away from her, wanting to be a scream. "You want to be strong, but you're not! You're weak."

"Only when I let myself be. Only with you."

Clarke's eyes glinted a moment, wanting to moisten, wanting to be as soft as Lexa's were.

When she blinked, it was gone. "Then maybe you shouldn't fucking be around me."

Lexa hadn't undressed Clarke fully. She'd undone her belt, unzipped her pants, but it was easy for Clarke to pull them closed, tighten her belt, walk off without more than a moment's preparation. That's why Lexa hadn't drawn those pants around her ankles, despite wanting those long, bare legs in her arms. She didn't want Clarke to spend another moment with her when Clarke hated her.

She'd keep coming back though. Giving Clarke moments to hate her. Remembering who she was.

It was what they deserved.


End file.
